


No Perfect Words

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6529396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no perfect words that either Will or Hannibal can say in this moment of final goodbyes. And even if there were, Will doesn't want to hear them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Perfect Words

"Do you expect to hear the perfect words, Will?"

Will stared at Hannibal, unable to answer that question. It sounded like such a simple thing; all he had to do was nod or shake his head. He didn't even need words.

But he honestly didn't know just what his answer would be. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting from this man. He didn't know what he'd wanted to hear.

Did he want Hannibal to declare his love, or something else equally ridiculous? Of course not. He knew that this man wasn't capable of love, at least not the kind of emotion that people understood love to be. Hannibal labored under a twisted kind obsession. That wasn't love.

There was a _huge_ difference between loving someone and being obsessed with them. And Hannibal, for all of his intelligence, wasn't capable of understanding that fundamental difference.

He believed that his blind obsession with Will was actually love. Of course, in his dark, twisted world, that was the only sort of "love" he could feel.

He didn't want that kind of love. It was frightening.

And he didn't want Hannibal to find words to express whatever he might feel. That would make everything too close, too powerful, too _real_.

The thought that Hannibal might actually believe that there was some kind of love between them terrified Will. He didn't love this man, not even as a friend. He might have considered them friends at one time, but he certainly didn't now. Not after all that had happened.

Friends didn't try to kill you. They didn't frame you for murders that they had committed. They didn't stalk you and make you feel helpless and cornered.

Hannibal had never been his friend. They had always been enemies.

Even before he had known beyond any shadow of a doubt that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, he had felt uneasy around his man. Something had always been .... _off_.

He should have listened to that voice in his head that told him something wasn't right about Hannibal. He should have trusted his own instincts more, and made himself back away. But he hadn't, and that hesitation had nearly cost him his freedom -- and his life.

He could very well have been given the death penalty if he'd been found guilty of Hannibal's crimes. At best, he would have spent the rest of his life rotting in jail.

Anyone who was truly a friend -- anyone who actually _did_ love him -- wouldn't have relegated him to a life like that, a life that wasn't a real life at all.

It appalled him that anyone could consider that a form of love.

What words could Hannibal possibly say that would erase the things he'd done? There weren't any words that could take away the horrors he had put Will through. He could do nothing to bring back the lives he had snuffed out, to bring closure to his victims' families.

It was too late for perfect words -- and anyway, there weren't any. Hannibal had to know that, Will told himself. He had to know that it was too late to turn back the clock.

All of the words that could possibly be said had already been uttered, and none of them had made one single bit of difference. It was far too late for any words now.

Of course, Hannibal had always been good with words. At one time, he'd known what to say, how to couch the horrors of the life he wanted Will to lead in terms that had almost sounded seductive -- until Will had let himself truly think about what Hannibal wanted him to become.

Hannibal wanted to take away his autonomy.

Hannibal wanted Will to become nothing more than a clone of what he himself was; he wanted to pass on his own evil intentions, his own lack of a conscience.

The very thought made Will shudder. He would never be like Hannibal; he could never turn his back on his morals, his ideals, and abandon right in favor of wrong.

He was a disappointment to Hannibal; he knew that very well. But he didn't care. It didn't matter that he had bitterly disappointed someone who wanted to twist him out of all proportion, someone who didn't, and never could, appreciate him for who he was.

That wasn't love, he told himself again. If he ever fell in love, or if anyone ever loved him, he wanted to be loved for who he was -- not who that person wanted to make him become.

Hannibal would never be capable of that. It wasn't possible.

Will slowly shook his head, finally answering Hannibal's question. "No, Hannibal. I don't expect any words from you, to be honest. You can't say anything that I want to hear."

Hannibal nodded slowly, as though he had known that Will would say those very words. "There are no perfect words," he said, his tone heavy with regret. "Any words that I could possibly say would ring false now. I believe that we have reached the end of our road, Will."

He was right, of course, Will told himself. There were no words that anyone could say to smooth things over, to make him feel as though there was any hope. 

Nothing existed between them any longer but a bitter enmity.

The slender, tenuous thread that had held him to Hannibal had long since snapped; nothing could repair it. They both knew that going back was impossible.

He had completely lost the fragile trust that he had been building with Hannibal. Now that it was gone, he knew that it would never return.

There was no trust there any longer, and Will couldn't help but wonder if there ever had been. Had he ever _really_ trusted Hannibal -- or had he always felt, in the back of his mind, in some place that was well-hidden and rarely accessed, that something wasn't quite right?

Well, now he knew for a fact that it had never been right between them. Their friendship had been built on a tissue of lies that had fallen apart all too easily.

Now, he was on the outside of the bars, and Hannibal was behind them, where he belonged. And that was how it would stay, for the rest of their lives.

Given what each of them was, it couldn't have ended any differently.

"Goodbye, Hannibal," Will said, his voice low. "Knowing you has been an experience, and I can't honestly say that it's been a good one."

It had definitely been an experience that he would never want to repeat, Will thought, repressing a shudder. His association with Hannibal had brought him nothing but pain, and he wanted to put it all behind him, turn his back and slam on that time of his life.

He wanted that part of who he had been to fade away. He wanted to forget all that he'd seen and done and felt. It made him feel tainted, dirty, distasteful.

All he had to do was walk out of here with his head held high.

"Goodbye, Will," Hannibal said, raising a hand. "It's a pity that things couldn't have worked out as I wanted. But I believe that plan was doomed from the start."

Will nodded, knowing that Hannibal was right. He could never have become what Hannibal wanted him to be. He would have died first rather than become an abhorrent killer.

He could be proud that he had stood his ground and not given way.

There were no perfect words that he could say to end their association; no words could possibly be appropriate. So he didn't speak. He simply turned and left.

There was no backward glance, and Will didn't know if Hannibal was watching him walk away, and wishing that there were words to still be spoken between them.

He didn't want to hear those words. Not any more.

For the first time in a long while, he felt free of words, of explanations.

That freedom had come at a price -- but it was one that he was more than willing to have paid.


End file.
